


crimson

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-24 15:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She is thirteen when they come for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a heads up:
> 
> \- this is very very long and far more p'li-centric than i originally planned, especially the first part.  
> \- this fic gets pretty dark and disturbing. there's rape, torture, depictions of slavery, and a lot of pain and suffering. if any of that bothers you, please be careful.  
> \- the rape scenes don't involve zaheer. HOWEVER, p'li is underage for the entire story and he is a grown man, so the dynamic of their relationship might still be upsetting for some readers.  
> \- i know there's virtually no fandom dedicated to this pairing but i LOVE THEM.

She is thirteen when they come for her.

It is a crisp autumn evening and the world is red. As she walks home, P’Li glances up at the twilight sky, which has worked itself into a rage - an explosion of deep crimson as the sun disappears over the hills. The changing of the seasons have not claimed all the leaves on the trees, not yet: the few that remain are also red, like droplets of blood falling to the ground. She looks down at her hand, clenching and unclenching it. Fire can be orange or gold, hot-white or even blue (if the legends are to be believed), but sometimes P’Li will generate the tiniest flames in the centre of her palm and she swears, truly, there’s a split-second of pure red before it evens out into the colour it is meant to be. The idea makes her smile. It is a shocking, angry colour, but she has always loved red, more than any other colour in the world.

The village is quietening down in preparation for the long night. Shops are closing, traders boarding up their stalls and heading to their own homes and families. She was lucky enough to make it to the healer’s shop in time, running all the way from the noblewoman’s house in the neighbouring town where she’d spent the day scrubbing floors and washing dishes. The healer had handed over the small bag with a pitiful smile and asked her to greet her mother for him, adding he would say a prayer for her later that night. The sympathetic words had wiped the smile off her face, and she merely clutched the bag of medicine a little tighter before walking away. 

Her house is on the outskirts of the village, but the long walk home is always worth it. She lives alone with her mother, a quiet woman with a soft smile who has fallen sick in the recent months. She tells her daughter it is nothing, a passing illness, but she has grown weaker and weaker as the days go by. She will still urge P’Li to sit down between her legs on the floor as she braids her long, black hair, nodding and humming as eagerly as she can as P’Li details the fantastic life they will have in the future. A big house. Dozens of servants and maids. Three hot meals a day, maybe even four. A private firebending instructor so she can wield flames even better than the Fire Lord himself! Her mother smiles eagerly, and for a small moment, it’s as though everything will be fine. But the spell is broken when she turns away to cough, discreetly disposing of her tissues. But P’Li sees the splattered blood on the crisp white cloth, and she sees the grimace that mars her mother’s face whenever she tries to get up. P’Li worries for her. Her mother is all she has in the universe. She will work like a dog for the rest of her days, she will never know happiness or even freedom, if it means she can wake up to her mother’s soft warmth in the tiny bed beside her in the morning.

She is nearly out of the small forest that leads to her home when she hears a voice.

‘Little girl.’

She spins and finds a man standing, half concealed by the darkness of the trees, a few feet behind her. He must have followed her home through the woods. A thief? P’Li swallows, clutches her bag of medicine tighter and stumbles backwards. In response, he steps forward, the moonlight unveiling him further. He is short and stocky with wide eyes that stare at her like an animal in a zoo, sending shivers down her spine. 

‘What are you doing all alone at night? It’s unsafe,’ he tells her.

He is not from the village, she realises. P’Li knows everyone in the tiny village, and they know her too. They know better than to ask why she wanders the streets alone at night. She has never seen this man before. His accent is also different. His voice lilts towards the end of the sentences, almost cheerfully. 

‘Who are you?’ she demands. ‘What do you want?’

He ignores the questions and steps forward a little more. ’That’s a funny mark,’ he says, nodding towards her forehead. Instinctively, P’Li reaches up and touches it, feels the pulsing beneath her fingertips. The red eye in the centre of her forehead. It is indeed a funny mark, one that has plagued her for as long as she can remember, but it has been years since the last talk of its sudden appearance dwindled down. This man is a complete stranger. He watches her, mouth slightly open as though fascinated.

‘It’s just as beautiful as they said,’ he murmurs. ‘Yes. He’ll be happy. Truly happy.’

‘Who?’ she asks. ‘You better leave me alone. I’m a firebender,’ she adds in a tone of warning, getting into one of the basic fighting stance she knows. P’Li could never afford to attend lessons under a master, but she would spend the little free time in the open stretch near the hills punching and kicking wildly, watching the flames appear with satisfaction, hoping she would prove a threat to whomever tries to stand in her way. 

He smiles as though amused, a cold twist of the lips. Before she can react, he lunges forward and grabs the wrist of her outstretched arm and yanks, pulling her forward so he can dig his fingers into the pressure points of her bicep and beneath her elbow. P’Li screams at the pain as her arm goes numb, and he pulls her forward once more, head colliding with his chest as he repeats the procedure on her other arm and then, the side of her neck and hollow of her collarbone.

The bag of medicine falls to the floor and she hears the glass vial shatter. The pain is overwhelming, making the edges of her vision blacken, and she feels like she’s burning all over. The man circles her, keeping his gaze locked on her all the time. Uselessly, she tries to lift her arms to strike him, tries to turn her neck, even urges herself to summon forth the smallest flame, but nothing. Nothing but agony. 

When she tries to kick, he lunges forward again, impossibly fast, and she feels the same pressure in her legs and ankles, setting her entire body on fire once more. P’Li sobs, falling to her knees before collapsing onto her back like a sack of rice, all limbs disabled as though torn from her body. The sky is brilliantly lit up with the light of a thousand stars, and she realises she is going to die here. She is eleven years old and has spent so much time worrying about the fate of her mother but she is the one whose life will end here, tonight. After he has raped her, most likely, once or twice if he sees fit. She is young, but younger girls have been defiled in worse ways. The stars are blocked from view as the man stands over her, staring down at her fallen body.

‘Weak,’ he mutters quietly. ‘A lot of work to be done. But,’ he sighs, ‘we mustn’t waste any more time.’

He crouches down and grabs her, forcing her upright. P’Li wants to scream, but all that comes out is a whine that is so pitiful he laughs cruelly. He hoists her up, tossing her over his shoulder before setting off with quick, light steps back into the forest. Where he will take her and what he plans to do with her, she does not know. Part of her, a small part, hopes it is all just a dream, and that she will wake up in the morning in bed by her mother’s side. Part of her, the more coldly rational part, hopes to never wake up at all. As though hearing her prayer, the darkened edges of her vision return and slowly take over, growing bigger and bigger as his steps grow quieter and more far away, and the world goes black.

 

—

She wakes up in a cell. 

It is cold and pitch black and smells musty. She has no idea how much time has passed, but the sluggishness and thick taste in her mouth implies it has been a day at least. There is a small amount of light entering through the bars of a tiny window on her right side, showing her the purple bruises on her legs and arms. She is slumped over uncomfortably. She has no energy to breathe beyond shallow little whimpers, let alone weep. She wants nothing more than to yell, to call for help, to determine if anybody is out there listening. But the pain is so severe, even more than it was when the man first struck her. It’s as though someone prepared a knife, held it over a dancing flame and pressed its blade slowly into every inch of skin on her body again and again. So she cries and cries until she enters into another deep sleep. 

She dreams of her mother. She is clad in a white dress with her hair cut short and dancing around her face, and her smile is enormous. They are both dancing, together, in a green meadow filled with daisies and roses. Her mother is singing an old folk song about a woman with long dark hair who waits for her lover to return home from war. The ground beneath their feet is pliant and so soft. P’Li’s feet sink into the wet green until the water reaches her pale ankles.

With a jolt, she wakes up. It is dark, but the moonlight from the small cell window reflects on the pool of water between her legs. She has wet herself.  
P’Li sobs. What did she do to deserve such a fate? A poor girl from a small village who only wanted to see her mother survive the winter. She was too young to commit any of the crimes that would warrant such suffering. So why? 

Before she can even think about it further, the cell door bursts open and the man - the kidnapper, the attacker - stalks inside. His face glows in the moonlight, making his face appear more angled and gaunt. His nose instantly wrinkles at the smell of urine.

‘Up,’ he orders her, beckoning with his hand.

P’Li blinks at him dumbly, uncomprehending. He scowls in frustration and steps over to her, grabbing her by the hair, and she shrieks in pain, coming back to life at once. She still cannot move, however, and feels like a rag doll as he maintains his iron grip on her long black curls, dragging her out of the cell. She wants nothing more than to slice off his fingers, burn the skin on his cruel hands to a crisp, to make him feel an inch of the pain she is feeling. P’Li watches the little cell disappear, watches the black cobblestones pass beneath her bruised legs as he leads her by the scalp mercilessly into a corridor and then into another room, colder and more spacious.

He releases her hair, and her head collides harshly with the ground. He grunts as he walks away, commanding her to wait (as though she can do anything else). She whines, trying to find the words to beg him for mercy, but then realises she can feel something beneath her fingertips. Water. There is water everywhere, making her hair cling to the floor. P’Li tries to summon all the energy in her body to crane her neck upwards, but finds herself unable. But she can glance to her right, straining her eyes and notes that there is moonlight in this room, as well, and it glints off the floor to show clear white tiles glistening with wetness. This must be a bathroom of sorts. 

The man returns and grabs P’Li, maneuvering her so she sits upright before he sets a bucket down beside her, the water sloshing out and onto her toes. The pain is still there, but has now dwindled down somewhat, and breathing comes far easier. P’Li watches him, taking in the hook of his nose and the thin lips before she realises he is taking her clothes off.

‘Nngh-‘ she whimpers, and tries to move away, but he grips her by the forearm and leans in close.

‘Listen, girl,’ he hisses, squeezing so hard she sobs, ‘I’ve got to get you nice and presentable for my master. He can’t have you in dirty rags, soaked in your own piss. So shut up before I make you scream.’

She shuts up. P’Li is not a coward. Even as a child, she was always more curious about the things that terrified other children her age - bugs, heights, the dark. But she pictures her mother back at home, breathing shallowly and waiting day in, day out for a daughter who might never return. But P’Li will return. She is sure of it - she has to. In her mind, she is already formulating a way home. But for now, that plan includes biding her time. She cannot escape if she can barely move her own body. If she is pliant and obedient, he may free her movement, after which she will fight and take him down. She is not a coward. She is biding her time.

She repeats this to herself as the man tears off her dress, ripping at the cotton like it’s paper. She wants to cover herself with her arms but cannot raise them. He eyes her body for a few seconds, looking almost languidly over her black hair, the pale expanse of her belly, the bruised legs and long arms, the small dark nipples reacting to the cold air, the mound between her legs - and the feel of his gaze burns into her skin. The silence is deafening. He stares a little more before turning away to drag the bucket closer to them both, dipping a cloth into the water before he begins washing her.

He scrubs at the layers of grime and tears. The bruises come to life under his touch, emphasising the contrast between the horrific pain earlier and the dull throbbing of the moment. She doesn’t want to feel that pain again. Every now and then, he dips the cloth back into the water, turning it darker and darker before he resumes his work. To her surprise, he completely ignores her face and head.

Despite her hopes, however, he does not spare her breasts, running the cloth over the small mounds quickly and efficiently. He roughly spreads her legs, ignoring her whimpers. When he uses the cloth this time, it is much gentler as though caressing the area, softly coating the area from her buttocks to her vagina with the cold water. She flushes in confusion and fear, the blush setting her pale chest and cheeks alight. He notices and chuckles, and then he suddenly sets the cloth down before dipping his entire hand in water. He lifts it out so it glistens in the little light, and the sound of the droplets returning to the water echo through the room.

Without warning, the man reaches in between her legs again, using two fingers of one hand to spread her folds wide and the index finger of the other to caress what is between, lazily drawing a line up and down. It is an area P’Li has never really explored, and she is startled to feel it tingle.

‘Stop,’ she whispers. Realising she can now speak, she breathes in deeply and repeats louder, ‘Stop.’

He licks his lips slightly as he continues his ministrations. 'Stop what?' he breathes. 'I'm just cleaning you.' The man is now playing with like a toy, his finger making her shudder violently. How can one finger cause such a reaction in her body? She hates herself so much, so much, when she realises it feels slightly good, and forces the feeling down and away. Every now and then, the man looks up at her to see how he is reacting to his fingers. She closes her eyes eventually, to which he responds by hardening the touch again so that she lets out a sob.

After what feels like hours of this torture, his finger dips inside. P’Li makes a noise between a cry and a groan, releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and he chuckles again at her response as though that was exactly what he was waiting for.

‘Feels good?’ he asks. ‘It’s alright if it does. You’re young. Beautiful.’ She doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. ‘Not supposed to touch you,’ he continues in a whisper like he’s sharing a secret, dipping the finger in and out, but carefully making sure it doesn’t enter her too deeply. He then resumes the act of simply stroking up the folds and down. P’Li stares up at him, mouth hanging open, and tries to summon all her remaining willpower to stop herself from feeling the pleasure, but it disappears when his strokes take on a little more insistency. ‘He wants you all to himself, see. But I was the one who got you. So I deserve some fun.’

Suddenly, he angles his finger so that it strokes something - a spot right under her mound and above the folds, and she keens at the sensation, her voice echoing in the room. He groans quietly in response and leans forward, hot breath fanning her cheek as he does it once more. She has goosebumps all over, from his hands, his whispers, his eyes. P’Li’s breath is coming in short gasps, and her mouth hangs open as she stares up at him in a mixture of horror, shame and awe. She feels like she’s on fire, every inch of her body, and it's the space between her legs that are lighting the flames. He strokes the spot a third time, circling it so teasingly her entire frame trembles. When he pulls his fingers away from her without any warning she whines, and he laughs once more.

‘Desperate,’ he remarks. 

She agrees. She is desperate - for what, she isn’t sure. For him to leave her alone - yes, of course. But the idea of him taking his fingers away and leaving her and that spot throbbing violently for the rest of the night is horrible. She curses him, curses every bit of him, for starting this fire within her and leaving her helpless and desperate for more.  
As though reading her mind, he takes her face between his big, rough hands and stares into her eyes for a long time, lips twisted into a sharp smile, eyes wide with admiration. She shivers when she realises she is the one he is admiring. He reaches up to touch her forehead, to caress the mark he was so fascinated by earlier, running his fingers around the red lines on each side of the eye but never the eye itself. And then he kisses her.

P’Li has never been kissed. She is a girl, yes, blossoming into a woman, but her hectic and busy life in the village prevented her from ever even striking up a friendship with a boy, let alone kissing one. And now here she is, in the middle of a bathroom miles and miles from home, being violated by the fingers of a man who can hurt her - will hurt her even more if he sees fit.

His lips are rough and cracked as they move against hers, and then he shoves his tongue into her mouth and instantly begins licking at the inside of her cheek. P’Li whines, but he removes one hand from her face and returns it between her legs to quickly open up the folds, which have now grown sticky, shoving his thumb against that bundle of nerves. P’Li twitches as he circles it again and again and again, pushing it like a button, even scratching at it so very gently with a fingernail, and she moans loudly with her mouth open wide. It feels so good. It feels better than anything she has ever felt. It sends waves of pure pleasure across her entire body, and she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he stops. He chuckles against her lips as her tongue lolls forward and begins sucking on it, sucking up the saliva that has pooled in her mouth from his blissful ministrations, pulling back ever so slightly to bite at her lips, and never once abandoning his task between her legs. P’Li’s eyes fill with tears. She is beyond shame, at this point. All she can do is feel and enjoy and hope he will carry on. 

She feels impossibly wet, and is unsure if it’s the water from her bath or the juices from her folds that are coating her outstretched thighs. She has grown wet before, down there, but only once or twice and only at night when she dreams of bodies sliding against each other and wet mouths and sighs and moans. She has no idea where these pictures come from. And by the time she wakes up, the ache in her sex is quickly disappearing, and she has little choice but to ignore it and get on with her day.  
Now, though, it’s as though a pressure is building within her, like a kettle filled with water brought to the boil. It’s building and building as he plays with her, and when he stops kissing her to mouth at her neck, hot tongue drawing lines on her throat, she moans again, louder than ever. 

‘You want this,’ he whispers. ‘You won’t tell him. And I sure as hell won’t.’

She is dazed by the time he removes his fingers from her entirely and leans back, face a little flushed. He lays her down on her back on the wet floor, hair growing heavy as it is coated in the water. She looks up at him as he stands, mind clouded over by the pleasure as he unbuckles his belt rapidly and shoves his pants down to reveal his length. His member is thick and red, curving upwards towards the ceiling, and all she can do is stare with wide eyes as the pleasure and desperation begin to dwindle and are quickly replaced by fear.

The man gets onto his knees and reaches forward to spread her legs even more, and then wrapping them around his waist. When he lets go, her legs fall to the floor, but he has already started to lean in and she can feel his girth against her, hot and thick. She is so wet she can hear her folds separate, as though opening her up to the man as an offering. He licks his lips again in anticipation. 

She begins to cry, overwhelmed by self-loathing. She had panted under him like a whore, so desperate for his attention and his touch, so terrified he would leave her, it was inevitable he would now want some pleasure of his own. She brought this on herself, and cannot blame anybody but her traitorous body and feeble mind. And now he will take her, rob her of what little innocence she has left. As a last resort, P’Li whispers, ‘Please.’

He looks down at her and smiles, interpreting the plea as impatience. And then he shoves himself inside. 

 

If she is to be grateful of anything, it’s the fact that he only uses her once.

He does not take long, either. The pain is horrible when he first pushes inside, but compared to the blocking of her chi paths and numbing of her limbs, she knows she will be able to overcome it. 

After he shoves himself into her, he groans deeply and begins thrusting wildly in and out of her, the thickness rubbing against her folds and making that spot sing each time he quickly pulls out. The wetness eases his way, and she numbly suspected from the harsh stinging that there is blood mixing with her fluids as well and making it even easier for him to enter her. 

At first, he moves fast, in an almost paranoid manner as he gripped her by the hips and shoved into her rapidly, his fingertips pushing against her skin hard enough to add to her collection of bruises. But after several thrusts he relaxed somewhat and began pushing in deep and slow, leaning in close so that the leather of his shirt rubbed against her sensitive nipples. Now, he was fucking her, grunting heavily with each intense snap of his hips, almost like a dance. She could feel everything, how his thickness was stretching her wide open, how deep he was going, how his thickness pushed against her inner walls and left fire in its wake every time he pulled out, and how she died and came to life each time he shoved back inside. She had no idea what to think. All she could do was feel as he opened her up again and again. That ache had finally been satisfied, the itch finally scratched. It felt sinfully good, and she was drunk on the pleasure and too far gone to feel the pain, tongue heavy in her mouth as she met his deep gaze. It was so dark, but she could still see the glinting of his eyes, could feel it on her skin. 

He moved his hands from her hips to hold her up by the buttocks, his entrance now differently angled so that the sweet, dangerous spot was getting some attention of its own. He was squeezing at her ass, pinching and tugging, spreading the cheeks wide. Before long, the pressure within her began to build again, and P’Li’s whines were mingling with his in the dark, empty room. 

He continues to hold her up with one hand, using the other to toy with her sweet spot, rubbing against it fiercely and she pushes against his fingers, begging him not to stop. And then, without warning, the pressure builds so much and so fast she has no choice but to explode. She screams, unable to stop herself, as her vision goes white and her body shakes wildly in an explosion of pleasure and bliss and relief, throwing her head back as she twitches all over. 

Seconds later, he also reaches his peak, and he pulls his length out of her and grips his dark red cock, rubbing up and down with a wild, hungry expression on his face as he looks down at her, mouth opening and closing as though he is praying. White fluid shoots out of the tip and onto her chest, coating her belly and breasts as he moans at both the sight of her covered in his come and at his blissful release, slowly turning flaccid in his own grip.

P’Li closes her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She is numbly aware of him putting his pants back on and composing himself somewhat before he wipes his semen off her body. He washes her with the cloth once more, as though trying to hide the evidence of what they just did. Then he leaves the room with the bucket, and she hears him dumping the contents outside. He is gone for a few minutes, but her body is too hot all over to really feel the cold air. When he returns, she opens his eyes to see him carrying a towel and another piece of cloth, and his expression gives nothing away - no pleasure, no smugness, no regret. It’s as though nothing at all happened. How many other girls has this man snatched from their doorsteps and shoved into dark cells before claiming their body for himself? He rubs the towel over her body to dry her, and then helps her into the cloth, which she now realises is a dress, pulling it over her head and tugging it past her hips and thighs. 

When he is done, he lifts her up and throws her over his shoulder again and takes her to another room, placing her onto an impossibly soft cloud she realises is a bed. Perhaps it is his gift to her, in return for her innocence. He walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him and locking it, his footsteps disappearing down the dark corridor. She keeps her eyes closed the entire time. If she cannot see, she cannot feel. And if she cannot feel, she does not have to live with the weight of what just happened. Her brain, no longer an enemy, now returns to her side by gifting her sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for making your way to part two! in this chapter, P'Li will be mulling over the events of the night before. she will also finally meet Zaheer before making her way to her new 'home'. 
> 
> warnings for this chapter: P'Li will be reliving the rape that happened last chapter, and there is a lot of trauma and grief depicted. however nothing else graphic happens.

She wakes up to the sound of the door creaking open. She sits up with a start, and then realises she can now move her body freely. She is still numb and sore, both in her limbs and between her legs, but she can move. She also realises it is daytime, the sunlight pouring into the room and making her eyes hurt. The cell is not a cell but an actual room, with a mirror on top of a big set of drawers and a larger window without any bars. 

Before she can think any further, a man enters holding a plate of steaming food. It is not the man from before, not the one who appeared in her nightmares. This man is much younger, probably in his late teens or very early twenties, but he is still definitely a man, having crossed over from boyhood a long time ago, it seems. His body is powerfully built like a warrior’s, his hands are big and strong and his bare arms muscular. He could use those arms to shove her down onto her back, those hands to hurt her in even more vicious ways. As he walks forward, she notices a thick scar has been sliced into his left eyebrow. She wonders how he got it. 

P’Li watches him, about to break out into a cold sweat. He is obviously a colleague of the one from before, perhaps even his companion, and she is the prisoner of them both. 

But all he does is place the plate of food on top of the drawers and keep his distance. In the undiluted sunlight, his eyes are the colour of olives, and he wears a simple gold chain around his neck. P’Li sees he is not smiling or smirking but looks hesitant, almost uncertain.

He makes to leave the room once he puts the plate down, but she calls after him. ‘Wait,’ she says. Her voice is rough from disuse, scratchy and carrying in the largely empty room. He pauses and turns to face her.

She asks, ‘Where am I?’

He frowns and looks as though he does not want to answer her. ‘This is an old prison. It was used during the War,’ is all he says, his voice deep. 

So that explains the cells and large bathroom. But it does not answer her question. ‘But where? How far away from my home am I?’

‘I cannot answer that,’ he replies evenly.

‘Please,’ says P’Li. ‘Can I go home? Are you going to kill me? What do you want? Where are you taking me?’ The questions come tumbling out of her mouth like a flood, his brow furrowing further and further with each word she utters. 

Still, he says nothing.

P’Li gives up. He obviously isn't going to tell her anything. He sees her silent surrender and finally turns away to leave. When he reaches the doorway, she speaks one last time.

‘The man,’ she whispers. ‘From before.’ Is he with you, she does not say. Is he outside, waiting for me? Will he be back for more? Will he return to hurt me further? 

He looks at her, and his face darkens. 

‘Gone,’ he tells her. ‘He wasn’t supposed to touch you.’

P’Li exhales shakily. The man says gone as though he has been disposed of. She isn’t sure why touching her would warrant his dismissal, but P’Li hopes it hurt. She hopes he was forcefully entered and owned and degraded by someone else. She hopes he is dead in a ditch, throat cut open. She swiftly changes her mind and hopes, finally, that he is still alive. So that when she escapes (and she will escape), she will destroy him on her own.

But you enjoyed it, whispers a part of her. You liked how it felt. How he made you feel. You didn’t want him to stop-

‘No,’ she sobs. She is crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and she covers her face with her hands, weeping wildly. She is a traitor. A liar. A fraud. She shamed herself and her name, threw away her honour and dignity like it all meant nothing, just so she could play that man’s pet for one night. P’Li cries and cries as everything catches up with her, the gravity of the situation making her burst into tears that are seemingly endless. She is all alone. She aches all over. She has no idea what’s going to happen, but what she is sure of is that the pain has only just begun. The man should’ve killed her after he got what he want - should’ve slit her throat and left her for dead. 

This other man, the one who brought the food, shifts uncomfortably as she cries loudly. Part of her feels ashamed - she is not a child to be weeping. Part of her feels sorry for this man. She is just a job to him, she realises, like a parcel meant to be delivered from one location to another, and he did not sign up to comfort a crying girl. Part of her is scared he will beat her to shut her up, and again she thinks of the strength of his arms,. But he simply goes over to the drawers and picks up the plate of food before making his way to her side. 

P’Li sniffs, looking up at him. She expects to see disgust and frustration, but his eyes are too difficult to read. What she gets a glimpse of, however, is pity. Sympathy. And anger.  
‘Gone,’ he repeats, placing the food in her lap. She clutches the warm plate and swallows wetly as he straightens up. P’Li watches him as he leaves, takes in the stiffness of his back and tightness in his jaw.

Before he closes the door, he turns to her and nods at the plate of food, telling her, ‘Eat.’ 

Then he shuts the door quietly and locks it before stalking away.

P’Li does as she is told. 

 

When she finishes her food, she puts the plate down on the floor and sits with her legs crossed in the middle of the bed. She reaches out with her hand, turning it over and tries to create some flame, but finds herself unable. Did the man manage to take her firebending away? P’Li is terrified at the thought. She will stand no chance of an escape if she cannot firebend. She tries again and again, but finds the attempts useless. She can’t create even the tiniest flicker of fire. 

P’Li she crosses her arms, disturbed. If she leaves them outstretched, she imagines that man’s fingers ghosting along her skin, leaving little dancing flames behind them. This younger man told her he was gone. His voice had been insistent, and she realises he has no reason to lie. They were both working together, however, as part of a team transporting her to their mutual employer. A master of sorts. P’Li does not know what he wanted from her. She is from a poor family, raised by only her mother. She doesn’t have a single penny to her name. She was not strong nor powerful-

Her forehead throbs. The mark. P’Li reaches up to touch it, and then thinks better of the idea. Could it be…? The man had been fascinated by her mark, had glanced at it like he wanted nothing more than to touch it. It’s as beautiful as they say. Who was ‘they’? And why was P’Li’s mark the subject of such intense discussion? Even this younger one had stared at it, albeit a bit more discreetly. Is her mark significant in some way? P’Li had never fully understood what it was, and neither had her mother. All she knew was that it was a sensitive spot, and if it was struck or touched roughly she would faint and sometimes even have a fit. She remembers crying herself to sleep because another child had called her a freak for having it. But with time, she learned to live with it, assuming it was a birthmark like the blotchy bit of purple on her mother’s ankle. The other villagers had been intrigued by it at first, but soon accepted it as part of P’Li, just like her impressive height and thick curls and generally quiet demeanour.

These men are obviously more learned in such matters, and the mark on her forehead makes her a valuable item to be coveted. So valuable that touching her wrongly would warrant serious consequences. Their master obviously wants P’Li, perhaps to study or examine the mark for academic purposes. Perhaps he has a mark of his own and wants to meet her. P’Li remembers her one of the villagers telling her that she’s not the only person with such a mark out there in the world, but she didn't think much of it because the rational side of her assumed she would never actually see that world. So much has changed in just a day, in her life, her mind and her body. 

She shivers as her thoughts become darker, and she wonders if this ‘master’ wants to make her his the same way the man from the night before did, and that only he should be the one to touch and explore her. Her mark, she thinks, could be a source of excitement for him the same way some men are excited by full lips and heavy breasts. She won’t allow it, she tells herself. This time, she will choose death over such a loss of her dignity. 

Hours pass with P’Li deep in thought, the sun slowly making its way across the sky as the afternoon begins. It is a hot day and she begins to sweat, the fabric of the dress clinging to her. The disturbing flow of thoughts only add to her discomfort. There is no word from the man who brought her food. She assumes he has gone, and will be replaced by a third man. All she can hope is that the newcomer is also kind to her. Her heart cannot bear any more pain. 

Eventually, she stands to examine her reflection in the mirror, and when she sees herself she is stunned to note little change. Her face looks the same, but there are bruises all over her neck - a combination of the man’s chi-blocking and his desperate lips and teeth against her skin. She flushes, watching her throat turn a blotchy red as she remembers it all. She turns and returns to the bed where she crosses her arms and legs once more and tries to fight back the tears of shame and disgust. 

After a while, the door opens again and the one who brought food enters. He has changed out of his cotton clothes into black leather garments like the first man, making him look more threatening and dangerous (like him) and she instinctively jumps back. 

He stares at her, perturbed, and she freezes. She does not want to offend him, to give him a reason to hurt her. But he simply approaches her slowly, carefully, as though not to startle her. She lets him put a bundle of clothes into her hands. 

‘Put these on,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes. We’re setting off.’

‘Where?’ she immediately asks.

‘To my master,’ he responds.

‘Who is he? What does he want from me?’ 

He says nothing, but he does clench his fists and stare down at the ground as though thinking very deeply about something. P’Li holds her breath and waits, and he still says nothing, just stands there stoically. She looks down at the clothes in her hands and murmurs, ‘My bending.’

He sighs. ’You were chi-blocked this morning,’ he explains. ‘A secondary form that only takes your bending. It will wear off by the time we arrive. But it’s just a precaution.’

He nods at her as though saying goodbye, turns on his heel and marches away fast, again locking the door behind him. P’Li looks at the clothes in her hands and thinks. A precaution? Because they thought she could stand a threat? She wants to laugh. She wasn’t much of a threat when the man easily disabled her. Nor when he had you on your back begging for more. She digs her fingernails into her thighs and squeezes hard enough to draw blood until the disgusting thoughts vanish. Then she puts on what he gave her. It’s a hooded robe. She is sure, now, that if she is to be hidden, then she is valuable. What she will do with this knowledge, she is not yet sure. 

As promised, the man returns after a few minutes, waiting for her beside the door. P’Li stands to meet him in the doorway, and sees the thin gold chain again. This time, he wears it over the black material so it stands out even more, and she notices it has a square-like piece of gold attached in the middle, with an engraving in a language she doesn’t understand. He sees her staring and reaches up to touch it with his fingertips.

‘Laghima,’ he says.

She doesn’t know what that means, and looks him in the eyes confusedly. Sensing her bewilderment, he clears his throat and turns to walk away, and she follows him with small steps, careful not to disturb her aching body. She wonders what Laghima means. Is it a prayer? The chain definitely looked religious. Does he follow a religion, then? It clearly cannot mean much to him if he is willing to oversee the kidnapping of a vulnerable girl. 

He leads her out of the room and into the corridor, and she passes a dingy little cell that she suspects is the one from earlier, although it is now clean. The two walk through the corridor and outside, where P’Li gasps at the fresh air. All she can see is yellowed grass and a few bare trees, with a dirt road leading as far away as she can see. They are in the middle of nowhere, the perfect location to hurt a girl and make her scream without worrying if anybody will hear. It is evening, just like it was when she was captured, the autumn sun having vanished over the horizon. 

She hears a horse neigh and a carriage comes into view, being driven by a bald man also clad in black with a bandage on the side of his cheek. They all seem to be wearing the same uniform, probably supplied to them by their master so that everyone can know they work for him and are under his protection. He nods to the man beside P’Li, and he nods in response. Then the bald man looks at her, eyeing her up and down. She shivers under his gaze.

‘That her?’ he asks suddenly.

The man next to her nods again. 

The bald man scoffs in derision, fiddling with the reins. ‘All this fuss over a little girl.’ 

‘The first of her kind to be found in a generation,’ says the other, voice low in warning. 

‘Still,’ says the bald one dismissively, ‘Lao only played with her a little. Y’know, I liked Lao. He actually talked to me, unlike some people.’ He is grinning now, and the man next to P’Li does not smile in response. There is absolutely no mirth in his eyes.  
‘Let’s go,’ is all he says. The bald man turns away, chatting to the horse. As soon as he does, the man next to P’Li grips her by the wrist and leans in close to whisper, ‘Let me give you some advice. Don’t try to run away, and don’t even try to fight.’ She looks at him, sees the furrow of his brow and those deep green eyes. She lets him lead her forward. 

 

He sits next to her in the carriage and spends the entire journey silently staring out of the window. P’Li glances at him every now and then, having given up appreciating the outside view when she quickly realised there wouldn’t be any. The night grew dark at a rapid pace, and she is surprised the bald man driving them can see anything in the pitch blackness. She assumes he has taken this path before, with other toys of their master. 

She contemplates something else she heard. The first of her kind to be found in a generation. Now she knows for certain that her mark is the reason they came for her. Still, she can hardly believe the funny little eye on her forehead makes her so desirable. It was the stuff of jokes between her and her mother. She remembers her mother presenting her with a gift on the evening she turned thirteen. You’re growing so fast before my eyes, and here I am, dwindling away. Her mother told her to close her eyes so she could surprise her with the present, and had forced her to cover up the ‘third eye’ between her eyebrows, laughingly saying it could see just as well as the other two. P’Li laughed and did as she was told, and was surprised to feel the eye throb unhappily when she pressed her palms against it. Sometimes it was like it had a life of its own. The present turned out to be a new pair of shoes, red with white ribbon. Now, in a little carriage bumping along a dirt road, surrounded by strangers with ill intentions, she wonders for the millionth time what it all means. 

P’Li looks at the man next to her, consumed by his own thoughts, and suddenly feels a wave of hatred towards him. No matter how much kindness he shows her, or how many genuine warnings he tries to pass on, he is still complicit. He is still actively taking part in this ordeal, contributing to her pain. She wants him dead, she decides, as much as she wants the other one dead, and the bald fool driving her. The one who laughed at her misery, mourning the loss of a friend and not sparing a thought to her lost honour. 

The man next to her catches her gaze. Her heart starts to beat wildly, but she is sick of not having answers. She wants him to speak to her. She blurts out, ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Doing what?’ he replies at once, as though he’s been expecting an outburst.

‘Taking me?’ she asks. ‘Hurting me?’

‘I didn’t hurt you,’ he says.

‘You know what I mean,’ P’Li says. She starts to cry, feeling pains in her chest. These tears, like the ones from before, come from deep within her soul and makes her ache all over. Her chest heaves with the sobs. ‘Please,’ she says. ‘Just let me go home. My mother - she’s sick. I’m all she has, and she’s all I have. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t come after you. I want to go home.’ She sobs and wipes away the tears, feeling weak and helpless. He stares at her for a long, long time before looking away.

She is learning to not expect an answer from him. 

 

They arrive at the destination a few hours later. He swiftly gets out of the carriage and then beckons for her to follow, watching her as she gets up. She fumbles for the edges of the door in the darkness, body heavy and aching from hours of sitting. Before she can react, he grabs her from under the armpits and lifts her up before putting her down. She scowls at him as she straightens her dress and robes, removing her hood. 

She looks up to see they’ve reached a house. A mansion, like the ones in the neighbouring town that P’Li goes to clean, but far bigger than any she’s ever seen before. It has big, wide windows and it’s lit up both indoors and outdoors with flaming torches. The sight eases her heart a little bit, and she relaxes even further when the bald man bids them a good night and drives his carriage away and around the side of the house. But then the man next to her leans in to speak.

‘You’re going to meet our master now,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Only speak when spoken to. Always address him as ‘my lord’. And don’t try to fight back. We cannot hurt you, but he can, because you’re his property. You belong to him now-’

‘No,’ she snaps, surprised at the heat in her voice. ‘I don’t belong to anyone.’

He leans back, and then shrugs. If she’s not mistaking it, she can see a little bit of respect in his eyes, mixed in with more pity. Then he leads her up the steps of the house, watching her to see if she needs any help (she does not) and knocks on the door.

After a few seconds, it opens. A woman dressed in a simple red robe stands in the doorway, her black hair scraped back into a tight bun. She has a scowl on her face. ‘You are late, Zaheer,’ she says coldly. 

The man next to P’Li bows.

‘My apologies,’ he says. ‘The road was a long one. And I am sure you heard of the difficulties with Lao.’ His voice is quiet and humble.

The woman looks P’Li over as though examining a lacklustre selection of vegetables at the market. She nods quickly and beckons her forward with a small hand, and P’Li walks inside. The man, however, stays behind and bids the older woman a goodnight. Is he leaving now? The thought makes her panic. As much as she hates him, she doesn’t want him to go. He catches P’Li’s eye and his gaze softens. But as he usual he remains silent, giving her a tiny nod before stalking off into the darkness.

The woman clears her throat impatiently. ‘Follow me,’ she says, tone clipped. P’Li follows her into the house. It is even bigger than she anticipated, with a huge curved staircase leading upstairs and spotless white tiles. The walls are a soft cream colour with numerous delicate paintings hanging from them. There is a large sitting area with glossy wooden chairs and silk couches facing an impressive fireplace. Before she can examine it anymore, she is being led up the staircase, trying her best to keep up with the woman’s quick pace.

The woman leads her into a huge bathroom where another younger woman stands waiting. The chamber has red tiles and a huge bath in the middle, surrounded by numerous soaps and oils. This second woman stands beside the tub, hands behind her back and smiling tentatively at P’Li, who edges forward.

‘Jian will be attending you for the evening,’ says the older woman, voice harsh. Her hair is scraped back tight enough for little veins to pop out above her ears. 

Jian bows, and P’Li realises it is meant for her. She does not know how to respond, so she fidgets with the cloth of her dress and looks at the crimson tiles, noting how the colour contrasts with her pale feet. 

The older woman orders Jian to wash her and fix her hair. She adds, in a rude tone, for her to be generous with soap. P’Li scowls deeply, glaring at her from under her eyelashes. Jian nods attentively, listening to all the instructions almost eagerly, and then bows when the older woman walks out.

‘Please, Miss,’ Jian says softly. 

P’Li looks up and sees her reaching with her hands outstretched, smile shy. ‘If you’ll remove your clothes. It’s time for your bath.’ 

P’Li hesitates. The last time she was undressed for a bath, she suffered a nightmare. She does not know if this woman plans on also degrading her. ‘What if I don’t want a bath?’ she asks. 

Jian’s smile falters. ‘Well,’ she replies carefully, ‘My master wants you clean before you meet him.’ She does not say, I will be punished if you are unclean. But her eyes do, widening with fear. P’Li suddenly feels exhausted. This girl is not much older than she is.

‘Alright,’ she says quietly, stepping forward and disrobing. She is too tired to feel shame at being naked, and thinks it would be hypocritical at this point, after everything that has happened. She lets Jian help her into the tub filled with clear water and slowly sits down. It is nice and hot and despite herself, she groans aloud, letting the hot liquid coat her aching muscles. Jian fills a small bucket up with the hot water and pours it over her hair, making her entire scalp tingle. P’Li shivers at the pleasure. 

Jian doesn’t take long. Her fingers work quickly and efficiently, and feel impossibly good as she coats P’Li’s scalp in soap and works the liquid into her hair with confident strokes. As it settles into her hair, she lathers the girl’s body in a different soap, eyes widening when she sees the bruises but thankfully she does not say anything.

She rinses her off and then washes the soap out of her hair. P’Li washes her own face, and when she opens her eyes she sees Jian is staring at her. Or, staring at the mark between her eyebrows. She flushes when P’Li catches her gaze and instructs the younger girl to stand up, covering her in a thick towel and rubbing the water away. Then she grabs a vial of oil which she begins rubbing into P’Li’s skin. The oil smells like lavender, and she thinks of the wild lavender patch in the forest near her home. She thinks of her mother and sighs. 

Jian leaves the room and returns after a few minutes, holding out a silk green dress. ‘Please put this on,’ she says. 

P’Li doesn’t even entertain the idea of protesting. She puts the dress on and notes that although it reaches her toes, it leaves her arms bare. Goosebumps appear even though she feels warmer than she has in days. 

Jian leads her out of the bathroom and down the hallway, her footsteps quick and quiet. When they reach the door at the end, Jian says, ‘I’ll be leaving, now. When I am out of sight, please knock three times. He is waiting for you.’

She turns to leave, but before she can walk away P’Li tells her, ‘Thank you.’

Jian turns back to her and smiles a little sadly, bowing in response. And then she is off. When P’Li can no longer hear her footsteps, she takes a deep breath and turns to face the door, knocking three times as instructed. Who or what is waiting for her, she is not sure. She wants that man, Zaheer, by her side. She wants Jian by her side. She wants, more than anything, her mother to be here holding her hand. But they’re not, and P’Li is alone. 

After several moments, the door opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the next chapter, P'Li meets the man they call master.


	3. Chapter 3

P’Li has always been a very tall girl, standing at least a head over the other children in the village for as long as she can remember. She never used to hate it. When she was younger, she enjoyed the other children’s appreciative, envious glares directed at her height. But for the past year, as she entered womanhood, she has grown six inches and transformed from an elegant girl into a gawky, lanky teenager. She always feels huge and brutish, and certainly not pretty. She is reminded of her uncomfortable height in moments like these.

The man they call ‘master’ is a small man. A cruel part of P’Li wonders if he can be called a man at all. He is not stocky or built, not like Zaheer, but instead slender with womanish hips, like a young boy. His white hair is short and soft. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. She wonders how a man so small and feeble-looking can be the master of anyone. 

She sits on a couch by the fireplace, sipping at some herbal tea. He sits opposite her, silently watching her with a small smile on his face. Since she entered the room, he has merely greeted her and offered her some tea before leading her to the couch. She is unsure if he has any intention of speaking. 

The room is spacious, with a large bed covered in red silks and cushions. There’s a fireplace, and P’Li spends most of her time staring into the crackling flames, wanting to jump inside and let them consume her. The room also has a large wooden desk covered in lots of papers, and a poster with the crimson emblem of the Fire Nation hangs high on the wall.

When she entered the room, he took her by the hand and kissed it softly, as though she were his wife. He told her he had been waiting ‘far too long’ for her arrival. He uttered her name, P’Li, like he was praying to a spirit. And then he guided her to the couch and gave her some tea. 

She should feel unnerved, especially with him sitting so close to her, his little body leaning in as though trying to absorb her warmth. His small golden eyes twinkle dangerously with emotions she is incapable of reading. But since she stepped out of the bath, P’Li has felt an eerie calm settle over her body like a cloak. She feels nothing and thinks very little, looking into the fire until her eyes cross over. 

‘You must be wondering why I have brought you here,’ he tells her. ‘I will tell you the truth. I want to make you invincible. And in turn, you will make me invincible.’

She thinks this over. Takes a long sip of her tea, not flinching when it scalds her tongue, unable to taste anything. ’I don’t understand,’ says P’Li.

The man nods, as though he expected this. He looks towards the Fire Nation poster and says, ‘My name is Fang Yi. I am the ruler of this specific land. Nothing like our great Fire Lord, of course. But I am in charge of the lives of many people, rich and poor. They look to me for protection and support. And it is my job to keep them safe. But,’ he says with a smile, ‘I cannot do that if I am dead. And believe me, a great number of people want nothing more than to see me dead. So that is why I brought you here.’

‘To keep you safe?’ she asks, incredulously. 

He laughs at her surprise. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You have enormous potential, my sweet girl. With you by my side, properly trained and readied, nobody will ever want to get in my way.’

She considers this, picturing herself clad in armour and wielding huge flames as she stands by his side. The image is ridiculous. ‘How?’ is all she can say.

He smiles, brown eyes twinkling. He lifts a thin finger and reaches up to touch her mark. He slowly traces the red lines, all six of them, and then presses his fingertip against the centre of the eye. P’Li gasps at the touch, feels the eye pulsing under his touch, but cannot bring herself to move away. But, she realises, it does not hurt. After a few moments he pulls his finger back, only to bring it back to his lips, kissing the tip softly, and she shudders, feeling as though he kissed her. 

‘So much power in a tiny spot,’ he says. ‘And yet you are ignorant. In due time, I will teach you everything. I will give you everything, P’Li.’ 

P’Li slowly puts the cup down onto the floor. This man looks at her hungrily like he wants to devour her, and if the tension in his body is anything to go by, he is barely holding himself back. But he is different from Lao in a way, she can feel it. Lao looked at her and saw brief pleasure. Fang Yi looks at her as though he venerates her. 

‘You’ve had a long day,’ he tells her softly. ‘A long journey. You must get your rest.’

He leads her to the bed, and P’Li stiffens. He senses her discomfort and merely smiles. A fatherly, caring smile. Everything about her appears predictable and amusing to him, like the performance of a small child in a show.

‘Come,’ he repeats.

He takes off his outer robe and moves onto the bed, expecting her to follow. P’Li wants to laugh at how tiny he looks against the large frame, how his feet don’t come anywhere near the edge, but she stays silent and follows him without removing her clothes. She is glad when he does not comment on this, and she sinks into the silk pillows beside him with a deep breath. With a wave of his hand, the flames are gone, and they are laying in complete darkness, the room silent save for their breathing.

P’Li wants to relax. Her eyes feel heavy, and her body is sore. She wants nothing more than to sleep and escape into her dreams. She gasps when, out of nowhere in the darkness, his fingers reach for her, stroking her clothed side. 

‘Shh,’ he says quietly. ‘Come here.’

He wraps an arm around her waist and moves closer, his small body pressing against hers. He clutches her tight, as an infant would a stuffed toy. He noses her hair and sniffs a few times, inhaling her scent with a contented sigh. Within minutes, he is fast asleep, snoring softly into her ear.

P’Li stays like that for hours, barely daring to make the slightest movement. His touch on her body makes her skin crawl. She goes over his words again, how he’d focused on her third eye, saying it was the source of ‘so much’ power. She is still so confused as to what type of power this is. Is it magic? Something to do with spirits? She turns the pieces of the puzzle over in her mind. She is the first of her kind to be found in a generation. The third eye has a life of its own, and is capable of greatness. The throbbing symbolises something deep, the pulsing of a force to be reckoned with. And this man will help her unleash it.

—-

When she opens her eyes in the morning, Fang Yi is gazing down at her with a smile.

P’Li gasps and pushes away from him, watching his smile widen at her shock. 

‘I hope I didn’t startle you,’ he says. ‘I’ve waited so long to see your eye, I wanted to study it while you slept.’

He rises from the bed, his red silk pyjamas looking even more ridiculous in daytime, like an outfit for an infant. P’Li watches him make his way over to the desk, where he grabs a thick book and one of the many papers scattered over the wood. He returns to her side and sits with one leg folded under the other.

‘P’Li,’ he says calmly, ‘How much do you know about your mark?’

Her stomach rumbles silently. She is far too hungry and disorientated to be having this conversation right now, and she gives him a slow shrug, hoping breakfast is on its way.

‘Not much,’ she replies. ‘Nobody could ever explain it to me. My mother had never seen anything like it before, and so we all assumed it was a birthmark of some sort.’

He frowns at this, dissatisfied. ‘But you are aware you’re not the only one to possess such a mark?’

She nods. ‘But I never thought it a serious issue.’

Fang Yi puts the paper down in front of her, pointing towards an illustration in the middle. With wide eyes, she sees it is a sketch of herself, asleep, with her forehead enlarged so the third eye takes centre stage. She blushes. What a strange little man.

‘The third eye is not a birthmark,’ he says, scoffing. ‘Have you ever seen the Avatar?’ He asks the question suddenly. 

P’Li shakes her head, even more confused. She knows the Avatar is a man named Aang, the sole survivor of the Air Nomad Genocide. Her mother told her stories about him and his adventures, but P’Li always assumed it was mostly legends and folk tales. The man seemed so far away from her mundane, small life. 

Fang Yi opens the heavy book and flips through its dusty pages to open an illustration and essay about man, turning the book to show her. The words are in a language P’Li cannot comprehend, but the picture is captivating. The man looks to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, with small lines around his eyes and mouth. He stands up straight, looking impressively strong for his age, holding a long staff in one hand. His head is shaved bald and his ears stick out a bit on each side. But what P’Li finds captivating are the long, bold tattoos stretching out around each arm and on his head, leaving a thick arrow-shaped to rest above his eyebrows. There are similar arrows on the back of each hands, and she assumed the tattoos even extend to his legs and feet. 

‘Marvellous tattoos, aren’t they?’ he asks. ‘Yes, the airbenders were a wise people. These tattoos are not for decoration, P’Li, or for beautification. They follow the path of the chakras, the energy of the body that allows them to airbend. All benders have such paths, but most remain ignorant of its power and vulnerability. This flow can be disrupted, which actually happened to you when Lao blocked your chi and took your bending.’ He closes the book with a thud and looks her in the eyes excitedly. ‘And your mark gestures towards another chakra. The light chakra.’

P’Li reaches up to touch her mark. ‘It hurts sometimes. When I put pressure against it.’

He nods quickly. ‘Of course. It it there for a reason, P’Li. It must be protected, respected. Not hidden and ignored.’ He continues, ‘You are a firebender, correct? Well, your mark allows you to further your capabilities. It gives you further strength and power. Just as certain waterbenders can grow strong enough to focus their energy and bend blood, when you are done with your training, you will bend more than just fire, P’Li. You will be able to combustionbend.’

Combustionbend? This does not make any sense. Noticing her confusion, he flicks quickly to another page in the book. This time, the picture is more like a diagram than anything else. It shows a bulky, bearded man with a mark exactly like hers, but instead of the thin red lines pointing outwards from the eye, he has thicker oval shapes surrounding his, like the petals of a flower. He is drawn with his eyes shut tight, and a thin dotted line protrudes from the eye, leading to an explosion where it ends.

‘You mean I can do that?’ she whispers. Fang Yi slowly takes the book away and shuts it.

‘Yes, yes. You will be far more impressive than that, though,’ he says, as though the man in the diagram isn’t causing an explosion with his mind. 

P’Li can’t believe it. So this is the power she possesses? The reason she is so valuable? Because she can unlock a second form of firebending, one capable of incredible destruction…? Now it makes some sense. If she were to be able to perform such feats, she would certainly be able to protect Fang Yi from all sorts of threats. But then a terrible thought appears in her mind.

‘Will I have to…hurt people?’ she asks hesitantly. 

Fang Yi pauses. When he looks at her, now, his eyes have stopped twinkling. ‘You will have to hurt anyone who poses a threat, yes.’  
‘But,’ she says, searching for the words as his eyes grow colder and colder by the second, ‘I I’m not sure if I…want to hurt people.’ 

Fang Yi says nothing for a few moments. When he speaks, his voice is still soft, but there is no cheeriness in his gaze any longer. ‘You have dedicated yourself to me, P’Li. Remember?’

‘But you didn’t give me a choice!’ she blurts out. She is stunned at the anger in her own voice. Just last night, she was cold and calm, and now she is burning with rage, feeling the red blood in her veins simmering angrily. ‘I don’t want to hurt or kill people. If this power is capable of such cruelty, I don’t want to use it!’ 

Her voice rings through the room. Outside, a bird chirps cheerfully as it greets the morning. P’Li does not look down at her hands or into the subdued fireplace. She looks Fang Yi in his eyes and stands her ground. 

Before she can react, his face twists furiously and he grabs her by the scalp, pulling her hair roughly. P’Li cries out and clutches at her curls, trying to pry his fingers away, but he digs in deep and yanks. He makes his way off the bed and drags her onto the floor where he shoves her away, panting.

P’Li’s head is ringing, her scalp burning terribly as her face collides with the thick carpet. She is certain he pulled some of her hair out with his fingers and reaches up to finger the stinging patches. She underestimated this man’s strength, not thinking someone so slight could be capable of such power. 

‘I have read all about your kind,’ he says, voice like ice. ‘I know you are hot-blooded and easily angered. That is your inherent nature, and it is understandable. But you will submit to me, P’Li.’ 

As she lays crouching on the floor in pain, too afraid to look up at Fang Yi, P’Li has a vision. She knows it is a vision immediately, because it is far too clear and poignant to be a daydream, taking on a clarity and certainty that grips her and transports her to a world far away from this room. In the vision, she sees the master marching into a village with legions of warriors behind him, coming to claim what he believes is his. P’Li is by his side with a leash around her neck. She is tall, far taller than him, standing like a giantess with her dark curls wild and unruly, tumbling past her back. She looks wild and terrifying, and her eyes hold no expression at all. And when Fang Yi yanks the chain around her neck, she takes in a deep breath and summons something. The power. And within a split-second, this power collides with the body of a fallen villager and makes it explode, brains and bits of his limbs splattering everywhere. And this P’Li, this stranger that is her, simply turns without missing a beat and repeats the action. Within seconds, half the village is burning, a smoke of ash appearing above the smirking Fang Yi and his human weapon, and the screams of the townspeople rise above the flames. 

P’Li gasps as the vision ends abruptly. It felt so real and vivid, and her heart is pounding. Was that a vision of her future? She has heard people witnessing events of things that would come true. Good fortune in the harvest. A loved one passing away. But no. It can’t be. P’Li cannot end up like that, a monster without any conscience or remorse, taking lives whenever he pulls at that chain. And oh, spirits, that chain. A symbol of how he owns her. She is less than a human, less than even an animal. A weapon of destruction, violence and hatred to be used over and over. 

She cannot let that happen to her.

Her body moves on its own. P’Li lunges for Fang Yi’s legs and grabs hold of a skinny ankle. He grunts in surprise when she yanks with all her might and he tumbles to the ground in shock, the back of his head colliding with the wooden floor. He groans, immediately reaching up to touch the wound. P’Li leaps up, forgetting the pain in her scalp and the aching of her bruises, and she grabs his beloved heavy book and slams it down on his ribs as hard as she can. He screams, sitting up from the pain before collapsing again, eyes fluttering shut. P’Li rushes towards the door, throwing it open.

She runs.

She runs and runs as fast as she can. She cannot breathe, she cannot even stop to hesitate or think about what she is doing and where she is going. She lets her sore feet lead the way and they carry her down the hallway, left, right, remembering how the first lady and Jian led her around, down the spiral staircase in the foyer of the grand house where she entered yesterday, and she finally comes to a stop, panting wildly.  
‘Good morning,’ says a voice.

P’Li spins wildly. It is Jian, looking fresh and cheerful like the morning sun. She smiles at P’Li. In her hands she is holding a silver platter of fresh fruit. ‘I was just about to bring these up,’ she tells her. And then she freezes, eyes widening. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

P’Li realises she must look a mess, still in the same silk green dress from the night before, face unwashed and hair uncombed and out of place. Before she can respond, make up a lie of some sorts, she hears a roar of sheer fury coming from upstairs. 

P’Li looks at Jian, who returns the gaze with wide eyes, and for a split-second she thinks the girl might help her. In that split-second, she pictures the girl dropping the plate of fruit and taking her by the hand, rushing her out of the house and to a faraway place of safety, telling her everything will be fine. But the brief moment passes, and Jian’s eyes turn cold as she glares at P’Li. 

‘May!’ Jian shrieks wildly, and P’Li’s blood turns cold.

P’Li hears footsteps and immediately, the cold woman from the night before stalks in with long, confident strides, assessing the scene. P’Li does not wait for her to speak. She turns and sprints to the door, grabbing the handle and trying to force it open. But the door remains shut and locked.

‘I suspected you would try to escape,’ says May, voice dripping with cruelty. ‘I could see the fire in your eyes as soon as you arrived, and thus I took the necessary precautions to ensure that would not happen.’ 

P’Li wildly looks between her and Jian, who has now put the platter down, and the two women slowly towards her. 

P’Li lashes out with a fiery punch on instinct, letting the flames appear without any inhibitions. She strikes Jian, who falls to the floor with a cry, clutching her side. But the older woman, May, manages to duck and avoid the blow with a deftness that surprises P’Li. Before she knows it, P’Li is lunged at, and she imagines herself robbed of her bending and mobility again. She is as stunned as May is when her body moves on its own, allowing her to step out of the woman’s path. She turns to May and kicks her square in the stomach with all of her might, forcing a blast of fire from her foot to double the blow. The woman tumbles to the ground, landing on her back with a groan, the spot where P’Li kicked her sizzling and smoking.

P’Li turns back to the door, her mark throbbing, and she takes a deep breath to summon as much fire as she can. She is nowhere near a competent firebender, let alone a master. But she will not spend a second more in this house. She will not let that vision become reality. She pictures her mother standing by her side, guiding her, guiding the fire through her body, and she strikes the heavy wooden door with all her might, gasping with relief when it tumbles down.  
P’Li jumps over the doorway and leaps down the steps, prepared to set off sprinting again. But suddenly she feels an excruciating, heavy pain in her back and she screeches in agony, unable to stop herself from tumbling down the doorsteps before she lands in the sandy dirt of the courtyard on her knees, looking into the house through eyes filled with tears.

‘You bitch!’ It is Fang Yi. He storms past May and Jian’s groaning bodies and approaches P’Li. ‘You filthy whore!’ 

She realises quickly, from the heat that came and went, that he sent a blast of powerful fire towards her all the way from the staircase, hitting her in the back. She also realises it burnt the back of her dress so the silky material has now melted into her skin. It feels like hell and although she is in too much pain to turn and look, she knows the pale skin of her back is largely pink and bubbling. P’Li smells something burning and realises it is the ends of her hair, having been singed by his powerful blast. She shifts in agony and bites back a scream when the silk stuck to the burning skin is disturbed by the movement. 

Fang Yi makes his way over the wooden mess of the broken door and down the steps where P’Li is still kneeling and trembling, kicking her hand away when she tries to send a weak punch of fire at his approaching body. When he is close enough, he grabs her by the hair, pulls her head back and then shoves his knee into her face with enormous force. P’Li’s face explodes in pain and she hears something crack - her tooth, a nose, she is not sure. She falls onto her back, winded and faint, but feels her consciousness returning when the burnt skin collides with the dirty sand of the courtyard. She screams, and the edges of her vision turn black as she looks up at the cloudy morning sky. Yes, she thinks, urging unconsciousness to save her as she closes her eyes and surrenders to its grip. Let me go. Let me sleep. 

Fang Yi, however, is not unharmed. Her blow must have hurt him more than either of them anticipated, because when she lets out the scream he stumbles backwards and clutches at the back of his head, groaning.

P’Li suddenly hears footsteps rushing into the vicinity, heavy boots coming to a stop beside her. She lets her eyes open and sees a man looking down at her with wide olive eyes. Eyes the colour of her silk dress. Part of her, the part not yet surrendered to the deep black sleep, thinks this man looks strangely familiar, and this suspicion only increases when his gold chain necklace glints as though winking at her. 

‘My lord,’ he says. ‘What happened?’

‘What do you think happened?’ snaps Fang Yi. ‘This whore tried to escape. She struck me down, as well as Jian and May.’

‘My lord, I’ll summon the healer straight away to get your wounds looked at,’ says the man. His voice holds no concern for his master. 

‘Yes,’ Fang Yi nods. He clutches at his head again and groans loudly, and a hand reaches up to clutch the other wound on his chest, where P’Li struck him with his book. Pathetic, she thinks. 

‘Deal with her,’ says Fang Yi, gesturing towards P’Li as she lays on the ground, breathing shallowly. At this point, her body has more or less faded away into a cold numbness. ‘Sort her out. I’ll collect her when I’m released from the healer’s office.’ He crouches down to look P’Li in the face, expression cold and furious, but she lets her eyes flutter shut so she doesn’t have to see the fury there. She is suddenly exhausted. Why won’t this man let her sleep?

‘You will submit,’ he hisses quietly, ‘I will make you mine.’

Without another word, he straightens up and marches away back up the stairs. After a few seconds, P’Li hears his door slam shut angrily. It is only then that she releases a breath she did not know she was holding, and lets her eyes open.

The man with olive eyes is looking down at her. His face is also twisted into anger and disgust, but he is not looking at her, instead focusing his gaze on the patch of dirt next to P’Li where the master crouched down to address her. This man’s face changes when he looks at her, and he gets down on his knees and reaches for her arms, gently, without pulling. 

‘Can you move?’ His voice is quiet, like a whisper. 

P’Li says, ‘I want to sleep.’

He doesn’t say anything, but gets up and jogs away quickly. P’Li stares at the clouds above her, wondering if those same clouds will reach her village and rain over her small cottage. She thinks of her mother’s smile. The man returns within seconds, and he kneels beside P’Li again and slowly slides a hand under her head.

She winces, feeling the place where Fang Yi gripped tight to pull her off the bed, the patches stinging. This man removes his hand at once, murmuring an apology, but then slides the fingers under the nape of her neck this time and starts to lift her up, slowly, carefully. She is thinking of how tenderly he is treating her when out of nowhere, P’Li’s body comes back to life, the agony of the burns on her back setting her on fire all over, and she starts shaking violently and crying aloud. 

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘But you have to drink this. It’ll help the pain. Please.’

She has no reason to trust him. If anything, what he is trying to give her might cause her even more pain. But she cannot resist when he places the mouth of a small glass bottle against her lips, dark eyes urging her to swallow. She lets her lips fall open and feels the rim of the vial touch her teeth, and then her throat is filling with a cold, sweet liquid.  
‘Thank you,’ says the man, his voice still quiet as he puts the bottle lid back on and stowing it away in his robes. 

Before long, P’Li feels the dark edges of her vision growing bigger and bigger until she can’t see anything at all. And then the throbbing of her back subsides, dwindling away into what feels like the caressing hands of a loved one greeting her after a long time away. Before she falls asleep, however, she lets one word fall from her lips. 'Zaheer.' 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> onto the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:   
> this chapter includes molestation at the end. also lots of angst and suffering. just all around super heavy dark shit.

She wakes up to the sound of running water.

The first thing she feels is pain. Her back is burning, and her face is horribly sore, as though she ran head-first into a brick wall. There’s pain in her hair as well, and then she slowly begins to remember what happened. She fought Jian, May and - Fang Yi. He’d grabbed and pulled her hair, kicked her in the face and blasted a pillar of flame to knock her down. She’d been trying to escape his cruel clutches after being confronted by a vision of her future self - a future she was so desperate to prevent. But her weakness, her inferiority, all betrayed her in the end and she had failed. 

Is she dead? No, that can’t be. If she was, she wouldn’t be feeling anything. She wouldn’t be hearing anything, either. Death brings a comforting cold with it that lays over you like a cloak. That was what her mother used to say. 

When she opens her eyes, she sees complete darkness. No - not complete. Her eyes slowly adjust to the little light coming in from the window, and then her heart seizes up in fear. Is she back in the cell in the prison? Did she even make it out of that hell? Is the man they called Lao going to come back for her? She remembers, against her will, his hands on her body and his lips on her neck. Her heart pounds furiously, but before she can scream, she hears a voice - deep, familiar, somewhat gentle.

‘Ah,’ it says. ’You’re awake.’ 

Her eyes begin to make out the figure of a man crouching down next to her. His hair is wild and unruly, and his hands are busy fidgeting with some type of wrapping. 

P’Li croaks, ‘My back.’

‘Yes,’ Zaheer replies, holding up the wrapping. ‘These are meant to help. I’m not a healer,’ he adds quickly. ‘But I know a little bit about tending to bad wounds.’

She thinks of the scar in his eyebrow and wishes she could see it. It’s a nice scar, she decides. Unusual. She wonders what other scars he is hiding, all over his body - bigger ones, deeper ones.

She notices with a jolt that she is naked. Or more accurately, her chest is bare. She can feel the cold air of the room on her skin. The silk green dress she had been wearing has been tugged down to rest around her waist and thighs, but leaving her breasts and belly exposed. She feels her face and neck warming up in shame and anger. He has to tend to her wounds, she knows, and the material staying so close to her burns is a serious risk. She's sure he even had to pull some of the fabric away as she slept, which explains the severe stinging right now. But still, she feels as though she’s been ripped open. 

What if, as he applies the bandages and medicine, his fingers begin creeping down her back and along those intimate areas? What if this man slips into the same daze as Lao and becomes mad with hunger and desire, desperate to claim her body as his? There is no way she could stop him or resist. Fang Yi might still want her alive, but she angered and offended the man so much that she is sure he wouldn’t care if she was now ‘played’ with a little more.

It doesn’t help to speculate, she tells herself. Zaheer, unaware of the whirlwind of emotions taking place within her, clears his throat and begins preparing some sort of thick salve meant for her burns. ‘Where am I?’ she asks him, trying to keep focus on his movements in the dark so he can’t surprise her.

‘Oh,’ Zaheer says. ‘The barracks where Fang Yi’s men sleep. The others have all gone to their morning training.’

‘But you don’t need training,’ she blurts out uncertainly, and she is glad the darkness will hide her blush.

Zaheer huffs out a laugh as though the idea is amusing. ‘If I needed training, he wouldn’t have hired me.’ 

Ah. So she was right to assume he was a warrior of some kind. His build gave him away, as did those hands, full of raw strength and power. The way he moves, as well, is so controlled and disciplined, gesturing towards a lifetime of intense training and practice. He must be a bodyguard of Fang Yi, hired and tasked with protecting the man and his livelihood.

She allows him to reach for her again, watching his hands disappear behind her back before she feels herself being gently pushed forward and onto the mat. 

‘Can you lie down on your stomach, please?’ He says ‘please’ like she has the option of saying no. P’Li does as he asks, slowly easing herself down and onto her stomach, stretching out as much as her back will let her. It’s not the most pleasant position, and she feels extremely vulnerable and exposed, but it will have to do.

Zaheer begins working immediately. P’Li feels the cold dripping of the salve onto her back, causing a horrible sting that takes her by surprise. She gasps, and he responds by apologising quietly, but doesn’t pause in his actions. After a few seconds, when the salve has coated her back entirely, she feels soft bandages being applied onto the areas where the pain is particularly severe. His hands are impossibly soft as they wrap her wounds in the cloth. P’Li notices two things that leave her stunned: it is light outside, but he has deliberately left the room dark so she can feel somewhat covered, and that he is doing his best not to hurt her. 

He finishes his task quickly, and then he takes her by the armpits and straightens her back up into a sitting position, being careful not to let her wounded back touch the wall. Then he reaches behind him and grabs a long piece of cloth, which he slowly wraps around her body like a cloak to guard her modesty before turning around and packing the medicinal things away. 

P’Li watches him through half-lidded eyes, breath coming easier now her body is covered. When he stands, she swallows thickly before saying, ‘Why are you helping me?’

Zaheer remains quiet as he reaches for the window above her head to push it open, and daylight floods into the room, making her eyes sting. He walks over to a long cupboard where he stows the items away before eyeing his reflection in the mirror. Finally, he glances back at her with a frown. ‘Fang Yi told me to-’

‘Yes,’ P’Li says, looking up at him earnestly. ‘He told you to deal with me. But you’re - you’re being so - gentle.’ She feels a little foolish as she lets the words tumble out of her mouth, heavy and clumsy on her tongue. 

Zaheer turns back to her with a raised eyebrow, crossing his arms. ‘You know, the least you could do is thank me.’

‘Thank you?’ she repeats, feeling oddly betrayed. Her heart is pounding wildly as she slaps her palms onto the floor in frustration. ‘Thank you? For what? For healing me so that I make a much better plaything for your master? Well, thank you,’ she hisses, letting the anger drip from her words. ‘You’ve treated me so well.’ She doesn’t know why she’s so angry with him. He is right - she should thank him. 

‘Stop,’ he snaps. ‘Don’t talk like that. I just -’ He pauses and sighs in frustration, rubbing at his forehead, so different from the stoic and collected man from before. ‘I wanted to help.’

‘So you could feel better about yourself,’ P’Li finds herself saying in an unimpressed voice. ’So you could fool yourself into thinking you’re not an entirely terrible person?’ 

She wants so much to like this man, to trust him, to feel as though he is her ally. She’s felt an overwhelming loneliness since this whole horrible ordeal began, and all she wants is someone to confide in, to ease the pain in her heart. But she doesn’t want to be a fool.

He takes a deep breath and glances around them, even though they are the only two people in the barracks. ‘You’re right,’ he tells her. ‘I suppose a part of me feels that by helping you, it means I’m not a monster. I certainly feel like one, after seeing what he’s done to you and knowing I played my part in making that happen.’

P’Li scoffs, but before she can make a cutting remark, Zaheer carries on talking urgently. ‘I haven’t been loyal to Fang Yi for very long. I’m from Republic City. This is my first time in the Fire Nation. I’ve spent most of my life taking orders from cruel, power-hungry men. But I’ve never done anything like this.’

She feels her eyes widening. How can he talk about his master so harshly? Just hours earlier, he had been bowing to the man and taking orders from him earnestly. If Fang Yi were to hear this change in heart…

She catches Zaheer’s eyes and sees the storm within them, the mix of anger, shame, regret and even desperation looking back at her. She asks, ‘How do you know I won’t betray you? That I won’t tell him how you really feel?’

He is silent for a long moment, looking away at the ground. ‘You won’t do that,’ he replies finally, voice confident. 

And he is right. She hates him for being able to read her so easily, for being able to determine the fact that she will not expose his true feelings to the monster Fang Yi. She hates him for looking into her dark red eyes and seeing loyalty and trustworthiness no matter how much she has been through, no matter how much she wants to lash out at someone, anyone. 

‘Tell me what I should do,’ she whispers. ‘I can’t go on like this.’ 

Zaheer leans in close to her, and he reaches out to take her small hands in his. She must look so young to him and so vulnerable, like a little bird with broken wings. ‘What I told you before. Stop fighting back.’

‘I can’t submit to him, Zaheer,’ she says frightfully. ‘Do you know what he wants me to do? He wants to make me into a monster, like him. He wants me to lose all of my humanity. He wants me to kill.’

Zaheer frowns unhappily, but says, ‘I know. But if you don’t do as he says, he will hurt you. Again and again and again. And then there’ll be nothing left.’ Nothing left to return home to your mother, he does not say. But the unspoken words hang above them, and P’Li’s heart aches at the thought of her mother all alone in their little cottage, crying herself to sleep over a daughter who might never come home. 

Sensing her thoughts, Zaheer carries on, ‘You’re incredibly rare, that is true. But he is a rich and powerful man, and he could find another person with your abilities to carry out his goals.’ 

‘Goals?’ she repeats. 

Zaheer nods, his frown deepening. ‘You don’t really think he wants you just for protection, do you? He’s a rich and powerful man. He has people like me working for him, an entire group of fighters who can protect him from even the most serious threat. No, his plans for you are much more serious.’

When he says that, P’Li remembers, with a jolt, her vision. ‘I had a vision,’ she tells him. ‘It was like a dream, but it felt so real.’ When she looks up at Zaheer, his dark green eyes are wide, urging her to carry on. ‘He was leading me into some sort of battle. It was like he was conquering some new territory and he needed me by his side to cause all that destruction. That’s why I tried to run away.’ 

When she is done speaking, Zaheer’s expression has shifted into one of awe. ‘How often do you have these visions?’

She shrugs, shyly. ‘That was the first time I’d experienced one. Why?’ 

He says, ‘I think the spirits were trying to tell you something. The spirits of that land, maybe, trying to protect their home.’

‘Spirits?’ P’Li knows little about the spirits and the world they originate from. Part of her always believed they were just mythical. It’s all part of a greater history, far bigger than herself, and thus she never learned to question it.

Zaheer nods quickly. ‘Unlike us, the spirits don’t have cruel kings and queens sacrificing their lives in the name of nations and countries. People like Fang Yi want nothing more than to enforce their perverted ideas of order across the world, when the only thing that will truly advance us is freedom.’ 

She considers his impassioned words. P’Li has never been a patriotic person. She’s lived in the Fire Nation her whole life, but has never known anything beyond her small little village. When the Fire Lord abdicated, citing poor health and old age, she didn’t feel any sadness or regret. He was a stranger to her, the same as all other rulers - distant, faraway figures who were only concerned about themselves and their own goals, not the needs and livelihoods of poor people like her. She doesn’t feel that much anger over the fact - injustice and inequality are the most oldest concepts in the world. Poverty and strain are all she has ever experienced. Even if she were to grow upset over it, nothing would change. 

But Zaheer’s eyes tell a different story. In them, she can see hope, determination. 

‘And you learned all this in…Republic City?’ she asks. 

He smiles. ‘Yes,’ he replies coyly. 

‘I’ve never been,’ she tells him. ‘I don’t even know anything about it.’ She’s slightly ashamed of how ignorant and uncultured she must look to him. But his smile only widens further.

‘It’s a great place,’ he says. ‘People of all nations living together side by side. It’s not perfect, of course - otherwise I wouldn’t have had to leave. But there’s a harmony in Republic City that other parts of the world could use. And it really makes me think that it’s possible.’

‘What’s possible?’ she asks.

‘A world without people like Fang Yi,’ says Zaheer, eyes turning stormy at the mere thought of the man. ‘A world without cruel and oppressive rulers who think freedom is something that can be given and taken away, like a parent waving a toy in front of a baby.’ 

That would be a nice world indeed. P’Li pictures it. A world where people like her and her mother were truly free, where she wasn’t constantly reminded that she was on the lowest part of the totem pole of society. Fang Yi wasn’t exactly doing anything new by using P’Li as a personal weapon. How long had wars been waged by unjust kings and queens, all in the name of honour and power? And who had suffered but the poorest and the worst off? What he is telling her is right. She knows it in her heart. But as much as she wants to agree with Zaheer, it all seems like a fantasy, a childish dream. One that can never really come true.

Slowly, with an aching arm, P’Li reaches up to take the pendant of Zaheer’s necklace between her fingers. The strange language looks beautiful and mysterious, the letters curving around themselves like the tail of a cat.

‘Laghima,’ she says. ‘What does that mean?’

Without taking his eyes off her, he reaches up to loosely wrap his fingers around her hand. ‘Guru Laghima was an airbender. He lived thousands of years ago, and he wrote lots of poetry about the stuff we’re talking about right now. How chaos is the natural order of the world, and all these regimes and systems are against all of our best interests, and how the only way we can build a new and better world is by destroying the current one.’

P’Li wants to laugh nervously and dismiss his words as crazy talk, but…part of her is in awe of what he is saying. To her surprise, her heart accepts it as true and logical. There’s no way people like the two of them can ever bring about lasting change by negotiating and talking. Only a complete upheaval of the current system will ensure a shift in the imbalances of their society. Complete…destruction. Her mark throbs for the first time since she opened her eyes, and she reaches up to rub at the angry red lines around the eye.

This sudden movement breaks the spell around them, and they are both transported from their hopeful fantasies of a free world to the cold reality of Fang Yi’s bunker, where the air itself seems oppressive. Zaheer blinks and his face shuts down, going from passionate and expressive to distant and detached. She knows it is all a performance, a necessary one, but she realises with a jolt that she hates it when he is hiding. She doesn’t like this Zaheer anywhere near as much. 

‘We have to get back,’ he tells her, voice gruff as he makes to rise. ‘Fang Yi is going to get suspicious if we take too long.’ 

‘Zaheer,’ she says, letting his name fall from her lips in a plea. He looks at her, and she flushes. ‘I - Will I be able to see you again? To…talk with you?’ She knows she must look pathetic, begging for his company so openly, but she is far too desperate to care. He is her first friend in so long, and she does not want to let him go.

His gaze softens as he looks down at her. ‘It will be difficult. If Fang Yi catches us together like this, the consequences will be severe. Especially for me, since I am expendable in his eyes.’ He pauses. ‘Also, I am working on other jobs in Republic City. However, Fang Yi is still my main employer, so even if I leave, I won’t be gone for long. And the sooner you play your part, and the more convincing you make it, the less suspicious he will be about everything.’

She nods as she takes his words in. Her heart wants nothing more than to resist, but she knows it is time she chose her battles more wisely. She has to cut her losses as much as she can. Her mother did not raise a coward, but she did not raise an idiot, either. 

She lets Zaheer help her up, ignoring the trembling of her own body as he eases her into a standing position. He doesn’t say anything further, instead slowly leading her to the door. Her body is sore and aching all over, but she will learn to live with the pain. She reaches for the handle herself and bites back a grimace when the strain triggers even more discomfort in her wounds. He huffs a little bit of laughter, amused at her stubbornness. 

‘Ah,’ says a cold voice as soon as the door swings open. ‘So I see you’ve tended to her accordingly, Zaheer.’ 

P’Li instantly feels her blood boil at the sight of May. The woman is glaring at her, the only change from her appearance earlier in the day being a bandage wrapped around her middle. P’Li hadn’t even thought to think of her, but now her heart swells with pride at the knowledge that she did that. Still, she wishes the wounds were a lot more serious. She wishes May was dead. 

Zaheer interrupts her hateful thoughts to reply to the woman, ‘Yes. Her back will heal with time.’

May nods briskly as though she expected this, and gives P’Li a cold, assessing glance, looking her up and down. The girl’s heart starts to beat faster. She wonders if her face is giving anything away, and tries to school her expression into a cold one like Zaheer’s. May asks, ’Was she stubborn? Did she put up any resistance?’

‘None. I don’t think she has enough energy for a tantrum. She did mention a desire to eat and drink, however I thought I would consult with the master before I gave her anything.’

May seems satisfied with this response. ‘Very well. The master asked to see her at once. He is in his chambers. Bring her.’

May spins on her heel and marches off across the courtyard and back into the main building. Zaheer’s grip on P’Li’s waist tightens ever so slightly as he guides P’Li into a hobble-walk in the same direction. She steals a glance up at him, but he looks straight ahead, face impassive. She smiles inwardly, feeling coy at the knowledge that she knows that face, those eyes and that mind far better than everybody else here.

As they enter the main building, she is surprised to see everything has been cleared up. It’s as though a fight never even happened. The door, now opened, has been replaced with a heavy one with even more locks and a thick chain. The lobby is clean and the staircase spotless. Fang Yi’s team obviously moves very efficiently.

Zaheer helps her up the stairs. She is glad May is looking ahead and not back at them, because Zaheer is being far too gentle and soft with P’Li. He avoids touching her wound, and his hand grips her good side comfortingly, the fingers grazing her lower belly. He uses the other hand to hold her forearm, which is slung around his neck, paying enormous attention to her facial expression to ensure she isn’t uncomfortable or in pain. She flushes, realising she likes the warmth of his hands and his gaze perhaps more than she should.

As they approach Fang Yi’s room, her thoughts shift from Zaheer’s touch to the matter at hand. Her mind is mostly made up now about how she will proceed, but she cannot shake the discomfort at the idea that what she is going to do is a bad idea. She feels like she is betraying herself. Her mark throbs almost painfully, but she cannot help it.

They reach the master’s door. Zaheer releases her and she places a hand on the wall to steady herself. He bows to May, who sniffs in response.

‘I will return to my barracks now,’ he says, voice calm. 

‘Very well,’ is all the cold woman says. 

Zaheer does not even spare P’Li a glance, and although she knows it’s necessary for him to act like he doesn’t know or care about her, she finds herself slightly upset. She watches, from the corner of her eye, as he walks away and goes down the stairs. She already misses his warmth, his arms around her, dizzyingly comforting. With him she felt safe. It might have been a poor replacement of home, but it was something. He was a solid presence for the first time in forever, and she is sad to see him go. 

Fang Yi’s door opens. 

The master stands in the doorway looking as composed as ever. Unlike May, he is wearing no bandages or wrappings. He must have worked to hide all evidence of his injuries with the same efficiency used to clear the staircase and lobby. His cold eyes glint down at her satisfactorily as she stands before him. P’Li’s blood boils in rage and shame.   
‘Ah,’ says the master, voice pleasant as though the events from earlier hadn’t happened at all. ‘I see you’ve had your wounds treated. Do come in. It’s time we had a talk.’ He spares a quick nod to May, dismissing her. 

May bows deeply, sparing P’Li one last cruel glare before walking off to the staircase, disappearing downstairs in a few seconds. P’Li turns back to Fang Yi, who is holding the door open for her.

P’Li realises she cannot make her way into his room without clinging to the wall. Further, he has no intention of helping her, but she realises she prefers it that way. She’d rather crawl than accept his scrawny little arm. 

She slowly but gradually enters, keeping her balance by using one hand to grip the doorframe and the palm of the other pressed against the wall. She feels his cruel eyes on her, and is relieved when he turns to shut the door behind them, the relief quickly vanishing into despair upon realising they are now alone again. 

When she is sitting on the plush crimson couch, he walks over to his desk and comes back with a tray of tea. P’Li feels a strong sense of deja-vu, recalling the exact same scene taking place when she first arrived in this strange, sad place. She accepts the cup reluctantly and sips once before gulping at the hot liquid quickly, desperate to quench her thirst. 

Fang Yi finally speaks. ‘P’Li,’ he tells her. ‘I have no reason to beat around the bush. You have clearly tried to prove yourself a capable adult, so I will treat you as such. It is time you realised that there is no point in trying to escape. This is your home now, whether you like it or not.’

P’Li says nothing. She feels the rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, the desire to insult and spit at him, but she fights it back by taking another long sip of her tea.

Fang Yi continues, ‘I will not punish you for your outburst this morning. As I already said, I am well aware of the hot-blooded nature of your kind. I prefer to work it out of you in a more organic way, perhaps one that will be more likely to impact you.’

She looks up, confused, and finds herself staring into cold, dead eyes. There’s nothing in his gaze but cruelty and hatred, pride and arrogance. It makes her sick, but nothing can prepare her for the words that come next. 

‘Huilang,’ he whispers, and her blood runs cold. P’Li feels a panic come over her, eyes widening. No. It can’t be.

Sensing her fear, he merely smiles. ‘A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. And if she looks anything like you, I’m sure she is indeed beautiful.’ 

Huilang is her mother’s name. But how? How could he possibly…? P’Li’s heart pounds in fear as she pictures men in black robes approaching the door of her small cottage. She imagines them stalking towards her mother as she lays in bed, weak and afraid. She should be there to protect her. 

‘Don’t worry,’ Fang Yi says. ‘She is safe. For now. And she will remain safe if you choose to co-operate with me. If not, I’ll send some of my hounds to pay her a visit. And I cannot promise they’ll be as kind as Zaheer.’

At the mention of his name, P’Li’s heart pounds even further. This man - she underestimated him.

Fang Yi laughs softly at her troubled expression. ‘Yes. Do you really think I haven’t seen the way he looks at you? Zaheer has been in my service for a few months now, and I’ve never seen that cold mask flicker for even a moment - not until you arrived. I’d say the fool is already in love with you.’ 

Fang Yi reaches up to push back a lock of her dark hair, tucking it behind her ear tenderly. ‘But who could blame him? You truly are breath-taking. Tell me, P’Li. Did he touch you?’

P’Li wants to cry. She feels herself shaking her head. No, he did not touch her. 

Fang Yi smiles, and the wetness of her eyes make it easy for her to picture it as a genuinely kind one. ‘That’s good. Good for him, anyway. I’d hate to have to dispose of someone so useful.’ He shrugs. ‘Anyway. It’s your choice, really. I have no intentions of giving you up. I need you if I want my dreams to become a reality.’ 

He rises from the couch and makes his way to the bed. He sits down at the edge of it, placing his hands on both sides of him, legs falling open slightly. He looks down at P’Li with an expectant smile and raised eyebrows. 

‘Well?’ he asks. 

She wonders, once again, what she did to deserve this fate. What cruelty she committed in a past life to be the receiver of so much pain and misery. She imagines her mother with her throat cut in the middle of their home, the crimson blood seeping out and forming a thick puddle. She pictures Zaheer pierced with arrows all over his body, dead before he could give freedom to himself, let alone the world. 

But she realises speculating will not save her now, nor will these pictures and visions. Her mother will not save her now. Zaheer will not save her now. Only she can save herself. She takes a deep breath, putting the cup down. And she rises from her seat, slowly, watching his eyes on her. She walks over to him, ignoring the pain in her body and her soul, and when she is a few feet front of him she lowers herself so she is on her knees on the cold wooden floor.

P’Li leans forward, bowing lower and lower until her forehead is touching the floor. She feels his breath hitch at the sight of her prostrating so deeply. Her mark throbs angrily when it is pressed against the cold wooden floor, but she dismisses it. She will learn to dismiss a great number of things in the upcoming years. 

And so, with this act of submission, she seals her fate. Fang Yi reaches for her, taking a hold of her shoulder and raising her up until she is beside him on the bed, the red silk like blood against her skin. She does not look at him, focusing her gaze on the empty fireplace as he caresses her with small white fingers, unwrapping her like a present. A fair trade, she thinks numbly. She offered herself up to him as such, didn’t she? 

He runs his hands over the sides of her body, slowly pulling down the cloth from her shoulders, revealing her small and slender form. His fingers stroke her neck, his thumb presses against her pulse, and she feels nothing. He runs a fingertip lower, reaching her nipples, rubbing back and forth between the dark buds at a maddeningly slow pace, his gaze flickering between her breasts and her face with eyes full of awe. He reaches lower still, pulling the silk dress up so his hand creeps up her thigh, stroking at the impossibly soft skin until he reaches between her legs and presses against her folds, trying to conjure up that slick wetness.

It is too late, however. She has shut herself off, reborn into someone - or something - so very far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! why not leave a comment and let me know what you think? it would make me super happy! 
> 
> the next chapter will be the final part of this series. BUT i am considering adding an epilogue or a one-shot sequel. basically i still have lots of feels about this pairing and i want to write some more about them <3


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